


To feel lush once in a while

by peachino



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Balin Is So Done, Embarrassed Thorin Oakenshield, M/M, Oblivious Bilbo, Oblivious Thorin, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29251344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachino/pseuds/peachino
Summary: When Thorin sits down with Balin after a long day of boring meetings, he’s left dumbfounded when he’s informed that everyone in the whole blasted Mountain thinks him and Bilbo are one step away from a Spring wedding. Especially when he’s never even thought of Bilbo in that way before. Now that he can’t seem to stop thinking about it, does Bilbo see him the same way?
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 27
Kudos: 241





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi, so I think i've caught the bug for writing this ship, I just had to get this out there. I have a plan for the other chapters but I haven't written them yet just to warn but I have every intention of finishing this :) Tags may be added as I get to it.
> 
> un-beta'd so apologies for any huge mistakes

Thorin did not often consider himself an oblivious Dwarf, not one who rambled through life without any consideration for others. He had rather thought he was one for noticing the little things, sparing the odd compliment for Bombur’s cooking when he seemed downcast at the lack of fresh ingredients, or reminiscing about the Mountain’s well-stocked library louder than necessary at the campfire, rather than singling the shy Ori out for attention.

This, Thorin despaired later, made what occurred on a gloomy evening that followed a busy day full of meetings with irksome advisors, all the more embarrassing. 

Balin sat with him in the pair of deep leather armchairs he had set up in the small chamber that preceded his personal quarters. They were tying up the few loose threads of the following day’s agenda before he was allowed to go to bed. Life since the battle had been surprisingly full of bureaucracy and planning, and Thorin was honestly quite frustrated by it all. Since waking up from a tremendous blow to the stomach by the pale Orc, a blow that left mottled purple bruising over most of his body and a soreness that was only now beginning to recede, he had wanted to grab the bull by its horns, bent on making Erebor the jewel he remembered from his youth as quickly as possible. Instead, Thorin spent most of his time sitting in dreary meetings where councilmen argued about funds and finance, diplomacy and debts. It was enough to drive one mad, he thought darkly, and he’d already been through that experience once already.

There was some progress being made however. The rebuilding of Dale had already begun, the Men from Lake-town willing to follow Bard’s rule with dreams of prosperity on the horizon. They had received a raven from the Blue Mountains that there would soon be a caravan of Dwarves arriving to settle in and aid the rebuilding effort, including his sister, Dís. And the bright spots of his sister-sons never failed to uplift his spirits, the miracle that both Fíli and Kíli had survived the battle with only a few minor injuries spurring him on to restore Erebor for their legacy. The Company still surrounded him as his truest friends, with each member settling into positions of power in Erebor and with more treasure than they knew what to do with. Dwalin, in particular, was especially pleased to be placed in charge of the Royal Guard, as a chance to bark orders and battle to his heart's content. 

Bilbo had even remained in the Mountain longer than Thorin thought he would, the Hobbit making himself incredibly useful with both his agricultural knowledge and knack for politics. His ability to diffuse a tense situation with unerring politeness was so useful that Thorin often had him sit in on council meetings to help mediate. The halfling never failed to surprise him.

Back to the evening, they had just hammered out the details of an excursion to the outlying farmlands surrounding Erebor as the last order of business, when Balin lifted up the stack of documents from the small wooden table on his left and placed the parchment with the agenda at the bottom of the pile. This left a slim book resting at the top, which Balin then carefully picked up and held above his lap. 

Sensing Thorin’s bemusement, Balin smiled benevolently at him, stroking the silver clasps that adorned the dark blue cover. Thorin could see that it was etched with the symbol of Durin in silver foil, but he could not recall ever seeing such a handsome book prior to now. 

“I ah- took the liberty of asking young Ori to find this in the Royal Library for you,” Balin said, tapping the symbol with one finger. “I wasn’t sure when you would like to start using it exactly, but as your advisor I felt you may want to wrap your head around the customs well in advance as some of it can be quite lengthy.”

Thorin took the book offered and opened it a few pages in, the silver clasps clicking against each other merrily with the movement. He could see it was all written in Khuzdul, the words slightly smudged from age. There were many illustrations filling the sheet he had landed on, the thin lines of black ink on the page laying out what looked to be various bracelet designs— one dainty looking bangle caught his eye, encrusted with tiny gems and finished with a fastener in the shape of two clasped hands. He could imagine it would look very handsome indeed on an elegant wrist.

He looked back up at Balin, intending to ask him what the book was for rather than read the whole thing, but the older Dwarf had started gathering the other papers together to make his exit. Assuming then that it was just a description of some sort of formal ceremony he wouldn’t have to do very often, Thorin shut the book with a snap and rose as well to see him off at the door, thinking of his bed in the other direction.

Before Balin reached the door, however, he stopped and turned to Thorin with the watery look in his eye that he often preceded speaking about the way things were before Smaug. Thorin braced himself for a remark on what a fine dwarf he had grown up to be, or perhaps an anecdote about him and his brother Frerin skidding about the tunnels after breakfast and driving the nurses wild.

Balin instead surprised him by saying, “I’m sorry your father is not here to be a part of this, but he would be glad to see that you’ve found someone so well-suited to you. And I’m sure Dís will be ecstatic to hear that someone has finally managed to snag your attention when she arrives.” 

Not seeming to notice Thorin’s dumbfounded expression at this, Balin carried on, “And he’s certainly made an impression on the other council members! I swear Lóni was cacking his drawers when he got the Baggins look of disapproval turned on him the other day. There may be a few doubters around but they’ll soon fall in line, especially when he proved himself so thoroughly during the journey. Facing down a dragon is one sure way to command respect, and everyone knows the ah- banishment is all water under the bridge.”

“Wha—” 

“Now the book will tell you that you need to do things well— by the book, but I know for a fact that your father did most of the things arse-backwards and it turned out well anyway, so I would just take it as a general guide really. I assume you’ll want to bond in the springtime as I remember Mr Baggins has said Hobbits generally get married in the spring to signify new beginnings—”

Oh Thorin had had enough of this. “Balin!” he barked, so forcefully he thought the silverware would rattle, “What in Durin’s name are you _on_ _about_?”

Balin brought his hand up to his beard, stroking it in his usual absentminded way, “Sorry I got a bit carried away there, lad, the book has long been passed down through the line and it might boost morale to bring back tradition to the Mountain.”

“No, no I mean- I mean why are you speaking of Bilbo? Why do you think I intend to—”

“What am _I_ on about, what are _you_ on about?” Balin laughed, “I was surprised that you didn’t specifically ask me about starting the preparations, but Dwalin soon set me straight that you were probably waiting for things to quiet down a bit first before you made the official announcement.”

The conversation was rapidly getting away from him, and Thorin began to wonder if he had actually been killed by Azog and the past few months had just been a strange dream he’d conjured up to cope. It was the only way he could explain how he was suddenly in a fantasy land, where apparently everyone believed him and Bilbo to be in a relationship.

Finally seeming to notice Thorin’s thunderstruck expression, Balin stopped to survey the rapidly purpling King in the flicker of the lit lamps. In a gentle tone, as if soothing a wild pony, he asked, “You are going to do it soon though? The rest of the lads have been pushing me to ask you about it, Bombur has already been considering the menu and Dori was nagging me about making sure to prioritise a shipment of silk for the clothes for the wedding party.”

Somehow it was the mention of the silks that blew the lid off Thorin’s bewilderment, and he was sure there was now steam curling out of his ears. “Balin. I’m going to speak very plainly. I do not know what you are talking about, and I have no intention of marriage with Bilbo, I mean I’m not even courting him!” he stopped to exhale, clutching the book with his fingers so tightly he was sure he heard it creak, “Wh—where has all of this even _come_ from!”

Balin gave him a look that said Thorin was being stupid, and that was frustrating him to no end, “But you’re in love with him! Are you telling me you’re not intending to marry him?”

Thorin was indignant, “What even gave you the idea that I’m in love with Bilbo!” he scoffed.

“Oh there’s been lots of things I suppose,” Balin mused, tilting his head to the side, “But I knew for certain when I saw you staring at him all moon-eyed when he showed you the seeds he’s been planting in the royal garden. When he started talking about the best flowers to plant to encourage bees to pollinate, well, the rest of us started to fall asleep but you just looked even more enamoured!” Balin gave him a knowing little half-smile, “Oh and don’t get me started on the Mithril! I thought for sure that was your declaration of intent, bequeathed in front of all the company too! But like I said, you didn’t seem to be doing anything else to follow it which is why I brought the book- it details the traditional courting rites of the line of Durin.”

“I do not go ‘moon-eyed’ at him,” Thorin sputtered, “And the Mithril was so he would be able to protect himself from attack from our enemies, because I care for him as _a friend_ , there was no—I had no ulterior motive.”

He ignored Balin’s raised eyebrows and continued, “Has he even told you if he’s in love with me?” He really didn’t mean for his voice to sound so uncertain.

The words hung in the air for a while, bloated and pitiful, before Balin replied, “Oh _Thorin_ ,” patting him on the shoulder and turning back to the door and opening it to let himself out into the cavernous hallway of the Royal Quarters. 

Thorin was really not sure how to make sense of all this, as the evening had started so simply. So he started by throwing the stupid book back on the sidetable as a rebellion.

“Don’t go laughing about this to Dwalin!” Thorin retorted to his back, but Balin did not respond, just continued to his own quarters with only a slight wave goodbye.

He knew anyway that it had been a wasted breath. There wasn’t much that the brothers did not share between them, but he also knew that this would be prime comedy at his expense. It would be a miracle then if the whole Mountain did not know by tomorrow morning, he grumbled. 

Left in the chamber still feeling prickly hot with embarrassment, Thorin turned and pushed the door open to his rooms in a daze. Undressing quickly, he just tossed his clothes over the nearby screen, planning to deal with it in the morning. He then climbed into the bed, rolling over so that he was slap-bang in the middle. Had it always felt so wide and empty?

Thorin bunched up the thick bed-sheets around his arms, wriggling until he lay in his favoured position on his side, willing himself to sleep off the traumatic events that had just unfolded.

Except that he couldn’t. He shifted to his back and stared wide-eyed up at the rocky ceiling, letting Balin’s words tunnel through his head like a burrowing worm. Was Balin right? Was he in love with Bilbo?

He thought back to the day Balin spoke of with Bilbo in the garden. It was true that he had found the Hobbit captivating when he spoke of something he clearly loved. He remembered his hair had shone like spun gold in the noon-day sun, his delicate hands gesturing wildly in front of him to get his point across, lightly coated in the loamy soil he had been digging into. Thorin was genuinely interested in what Bilbo had to say, and found he could speak to him with an ease he shared with very few people. He had found himself seeking out the Hobbit’s company more and more lately, dispensing reminiscence of the Erebor of his youth and receiving stories of the Shire in return. Many breakfasts had seen them sitting shoulder to shoulder, engrossed in a discussion about ethics or politics, admiring Bilbo’s obvious intelligence. But was there more to it than simple admiration when Thorin had found himself lingering on the curve of his plush lips, the elegant sweep of his pointed ears poking out of his hair, or the flash of a sharp tooth when he opened his mouth too wide?

He tried to imagine kissing Bilbo on that mouth, nipping at his lips as a tease before licking in deep. It would probably be a mixture of burning passion and innocent exploring, he mused, and perhaps Bilbo would shudder a bit, start to rock his small hips against Thorin’s own, the soft swell of his stomach brushing against him. Twisting his hand in the golden curls whilst keeping the other palming his backside, Thorin would tug his head back to get at his neck, biting at the exposed column of his throat so that the blood would rise up, before turning to mouth at the rounded ridge of his shoulder to soothe him as Bilbo started to whine and move faster against him until he—

— Jolting upright, Thorin stared down at where he knew his cock was starting to fill under the covers, despairing over this state of affairs. The ease to which he fell into the fantasy told him all he needed to know. He had fallen in love with Bilbo, obliviously, and everyone except him had seen it from a mile away. 

Forcing himself to calm down and be pragmatic, he rubbed at his left eye that had started to itch. It could be worse, he thought wryly. Balin’s cryptic departure did point to Bilbo feeling the same way.

But wait, the horrible thought dawned on him. Maybe Bilbo had been trying to express his interest and Thorin had been oblivious in brushing him off? Perhaps the reason Bilbo had been so willing to talk to him and sit with him at mealtimes was because he wished to be with him romantically. He had freely and easily given Thorin his forgiveness for the strife he had caused whilst deep in his gold-madness, and had remained in the Mountain much longer than he had planned—and Thorin hadn’t even realised what this could mean! Again, the thick feeling of embarrassment rose up from his stomach, choking Thorin with the taste.

Erection now truly wilted, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and made his way back to the door that led to the antechamber, padding out of the room to head straight for the book he’d flung away in distaste. He picked it up, stroking the Durin symbol lightly as Balin had done earlier. His father had used this guide to win his mother, and he knew how happy they had both been before she had sadly fallen to illness during his youth.

Walking back to his bed across the cold stone, he placed the book gently in the drawer of the table that stood there, deciding to perhaps leave the traditional courting until he was sure of Bilbo’s affection. Taking his place under the cool sheets again, he settled down deep. No longer would he be oblivious, he resolved. Starting tomorrow, he would pay particular attention to Bilbo’s actions and manner with him in order to decide whether to make his move.

He yawned, his mind replaying the moment Bilbo had caught sight of Thorin and the others when they had approached him in the garden, his blue eyes brightening and a pleased smile lifting his lips, and he drifted off into a restless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again!! I said I'd post more and I did. Thank you to everyone with kudos and comments so far, I'm really appreciative especially as its my first proper go of writing for a long long time. Happy Valentine's day and enjoy!

“What’s the matter with you today?”

Thorin looked up from where he was glaring at his plate of runny eggs and generous slices of bacon. He’d had an absolutely terrible night of it, tossing and turning, waking up with a jolt before dozing off again. He’d had better sleep on a lumpy bedroll slung over the rocky floor of a dingy cave, and that was really saying something. He knew he had dark circles looped around his eyes and a tension headache forming at the back of his skull, one that couldn’t even be shifted by the gallon of water he had chugged when he got up. 

He was currently working over his simmering resentment towards Balin by imagining it was his face when he stabbed the sunny yolk and it leaked out its innards—He had been so happy when he was oblivious yesterday, so carefree. Before the old Dwarf had turned his world upside down.

Instead of saying any of that, he just bit out a sharp “Nothing,” spearing a large forkful of breakfast and shovelling it into his mouth. He chewed it over angrily.

Clearly not understanding this for the ‘fuck off’ it was meant to be, Fíli continued, “Well where’s Bilbo today then?”

Oh not this again, “How should I know!” Thorin spat, causing a small glob of yolk to land on the wooden table. 

Fíli eyed him strangely over his own breakfast. Ignoring this, Thorin continued his pillaging, taking his agitation out on the meat next rather than his eldest heir.

Kíli, who had just entered the hall, bustled over, taking the other seat across from Thorin and paying no mind to the cloud of irritation forming over the end of the table. “Are we talking about Bilbo? He’s in the garden again, he said something about needing to check the broad beans for rot,” his mouth twisted up in distaste. He started helping himself to the tray of sausages at the centre of the table, taking one, then another, then another, before stabbing a fourth and shoving half of it into his mouth, chewing noisily. Thorin hoped for his own sake that he would have stopped doing that before Dís arrived. 

“Maybe you should go see him before the council meeting, Uncle? I know you haven’t had much time to yourselves recently,” Fíli replied. He at least was using a knife and fork to cut into his food.

Pointing his own fork at Fíli, Thorin asked suspiciously, “What has Balin told you?” trying to figure out if his sister-son was having a joke at his expense. 

“What? Nothing! Is there something wrong with you and Bilbo?” Fíli looked confused enough, but having practically raised the little terror, Thorin was not so sure he was innocent.

Grunting in reply, he looked down and realised he had finished everything on his plate, without even realising what it had tasted like. 

“Bilbo seemed in high spirits, so I don’t think anything is the matter with him and Thorin,” Kíli said to Fíli, “He said he’d come help me with my archery practice tomorrow by collecting my arrows, but that he refused to be one of the moving targets. Oh! And he also told me to tell you he’s made more of those things you like, the um— tea cakes, with the bits in them. He left them in the kitchens for you.”

As his nephews exclaimed at each other over how brilliant Bilbo was, and Thorin despaired over how attentive the Hobbit was to their passions, he stood up without a word. His chair screeched against the stone as it was pushed backwards, like one of the Great Eagles was present, turning most of the faces in the hall towards the head of the table.

“I’ll see you in the meeting then!” Fíli called to his retreating back. Resisting the urge to gesture rudely at the two of them so as not to give them ideas, he swept out of the room, his subjects scuttling out of his way.

Contrary to his nephew’s suggestion, Thorin did not attempt to seek out Bilbo before the council meeting, instead choosing to pace back and forth in his quarters. He refused to concede that he was in hiding, rather it was a tactical retreat to assess the situation. Fíli and Kíli’s manner at breakfast suggested that Balin had not spread around that Thorin had been so unaware of his own feelings. He abruptly felt guilty for thinking so harshly of him earlier. The best course of action now was to pretend nothing had changed, he thought, but to observe if the Hobbit could reciprocate his feelings.

He spent such a long time inside his head, his feet moving without his realising, that he would swear he had started to wear footprints into the flagstone. Cursing as he noticed the time, he picked up his crown and shoved it down on his head before sweeping out of his quarters. 

As he approached the Council chamber, however, he cursed inwardly as he could see the Hobbit himself turning a corner and coming towards him from the other direction.

”Thorin!” Bilbo called out with a grin, their pace matched so that they met slightly away from the heavy wooden doors. Thorin could hear the sounds of voices coming from inside, including Fíli’s loud guffaw, pointing towards them being the last ones left to arrive. 

His focus intent on the Hobbit in front of him, slightly dishevelled from his garden work, Thorin decided he did not care if he was late. There had to be some perks to being King. “Bilbo,” he acknowledged, much more calmly than he felt. He looked absolutely radiant, his golden hair windswept from the wind that often buffeted the South face of the Mountain, and his face open and happy. 

Bilbo scrutinised him, “Your crown is slightly crooked, here, I can fix it for you if you’ll let me.”

Thorin actually didn’t really much like his crown. He found that it left little indentations on his forehead from the weight, and his neck began to ache if he wore it for too long. Although his design was slightly different in its jagged edges, it was in essence his Grandfather's crown and a constant reminder of the tragedy at the Battle of Azanulbizar. He refused to wear it outside of his official duties, preferring to be bareheaded as he was during the journey. He didn’t know if he was imagining things, but he felt it made people seem more relaxed around him when he did not wear it, particularly those in the Company.

Instead of replying, Thorin just bent at the neck to meet the Hobbit’s questing hands. The angle meant he had to look up at him through his eyelashes, greedily taking in the sight of Bilbo’s pink tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, the lines around his eyes more noticeable as he adjusted the crown to his liking.

“Now stand up straight,” he commanded, and Thorin obeyed, helpless under the Hobbit’s attentive hands.

Bilbo surveyed his handiwork with a pleased smile, and Thorin smiled back weakly, muttering a quick, “Thank you.”

He thought Bilbo would then step back, but the Hobbit surprised him by staying close, his hands landing on Thorin’s chest.

Thorin would swear he stopped breathing. 

Bilbo’s hands moved slowly down the ridges of the light armour, tracing the zig-zag edges in fascination with his fingers. Thorin had taken to wearing at least some form of armour in his daily life, conscious of the fact that they had been taken by surprise in the Mountain more than once already. Although he did not wear his heavy coat with the collar of fur, he was sure he cut an imposing figure. However, Bilbo’s ease in which his fingers moved down to the vertical grooves that ended at the thick belt, told of the Hobbit’s utter lack of fear. His hands did not shake as he focused on the change in metal plates, his fingernails getting caught on one of the edges before dragging on.

Another loud laugh from inside the chamber broke the tension, and Bilbo hopped back slightly removing his hands from Thorin’s person. A strange look came into his eyes, before it was gone in an instant, replaced by a rueful smirk.

“Coming in then?” he gestured to the Council chamber, and Thorin followed him in as if bound by an invisible cord that Bilbo had leashed him with.

Taking his place at the head of the table, with Bilbo a few seats down to his right, he called the meeting to order.

He spent the rest of the meeting overthinking the encounter, having to ask his advisors to repeat themselves when his attention had wandered. Each time it happened, Balin gave him a very knowing look. And Bilbo was on top form today, arguing passionately for the use of Dwarf masonry in the rebuilding of Dale, which was doing nothing to alleviate Thorin’s desire. He didn’t realise he would be so affected by Bilbo’s obvious passion for his people.

He really was magnificent, rising out of his seat to poke first at the papers in front of him and at whoever had caught his wrath at the time, working well in tandem with Fíli with his open and serious spirit, a maturity that had only grown since reclaiming the Mountain. The Dwarf, Lóni, a lord from his Cousin Dain’s realm who Balin had reminded Thorin had been terrified by the Hobbit, couldn’t even meet Bilbo’s eye, choosing instead to stare at his clasped hands in his lap in front of him and nod soberly whenever Bilbo said anything. 

Thorin’s plan of observation had so far yielded the result that he even found the way the Hobbit scared his advisors witless _endearing._ What was _wrong_ with him?

-⧫-

The simmering tension Thorin felt he could now visibly see between him and Bilbo, the invisible string that tugged at his navel and drew him closer, only expanded with each new encounter. He had to wonder if things really had been this compelling before Balin had pointed it out, or whether the realisation had just let the dam burst.

The day after the Council meeting found Thorin in the library waiting for Ori to dig up an academic paper on the potential hallucinogenic gas deposit encased in the lower cavern of all things, when he spied Bilbo over on the far wall of books. The Hobbit was three steps off of the ground on a rickety little ladder, reaching one arm up towards the top shelf of books. 

The invisible string tugged him forward and he made his way over, his footsteps quiet in the silent atmosphere like they were within a bubble waiting to be popped. 

Arriving behind Bilbo’s stretched out form, he took the time to linger without the Hobbit’s knowledge, the coals of desire warming in his belly. His white collared shirt had become untucked with the movement, a flash of the milk-white unblemished skin of his rounded hips appearing every time he grasped upwards. His braces were hanging loose around his pert bottom as if framing it for his greedy eyes. Strangely, Thorin even found the sight of Bilbo’s calves erotic, the light muscle standing out as his legs were spread on different steps. The smooth curve of them belied the strength underneath. Thorin had the sudden urge to run his tongue along this curve, to mouth at the space behind Bilbo’s knee.

He must have made some sort of noise, as Bilbo suddenly turned his head over his shoulder, startling as he realised how close Thorin was. The movement was so sudden in fact, that he started to overbalance, his oversized feet working against him.

With the ease and experience of an uncle of two very rambunctious little Dwarves prone to mishap, Thorin quickly pressed one hand to Bilbo’s back and one to his stomach to steady him, feeling the heaving movement of his chest between the two points. His smallest two fingers had managed to slip under Bilbo’s shirt with his grip.

“Oh!” Bilbo breathed out, his hand on his own chest, “You just took a year off my life.”

Using his strength, Thorin turned the Hobbit to face him. It was funny really, his position on the ladder made him the same height as Thorin. He had wondered before what life would be like if Bilbo were a Dwarf himself. Whether that would change anything, would he like crystals over chrysanthemums? Thorin found that he much preferred Bilbo as a Hobbit, at least for the way he could easily move the smaller being wherever he wanted.

“My apologies, Bilbo, I did not mean to frighten you.” Thorin found himself reverting back to his formal tone in his fluster. His hands remained on Bilbo, and as Thorin flexed his fingers against his back before letting go, a slight shudder went through the Hobbit.

Bilbo climbed down the last of the steps to solid ground, putting them back to their usual positions. “It’s no bother, I’m not sure I was getting anywhere close to the book I wanted. I have to ask, why are the shelves even up this high? It's not as if there are any Men or Elves allowed in here.” 

Truthfully Thorin had wondered this himself. “I can get it for you,” he said instead, “Just point it out to me.”

“Oh really? Well then, yes, yes please. Can you fetch me the one up there then, with the green spine,” he pointed at the top shelf and Thorin utilised the step to stretch up and snag it out of the surrounding books’ clutches, “No to the left of that one, yes, thank you.”

He turned back around with the book in hand to find Bilbo a bit flushed and his eyes darting everywhere but Thorin’s face. Thorin’s chest puffed up a little at the thought that Bilbo might have been looking at his own backside the same way he had.

Before he handed the book over to Bilbo, he read the cover out loud, “‘Dwarrow Tales for Tots.’ Something you want to tell me?”

Bilbo somehow flushed even deeper. “Oh hush, Ori recommended it when I asked him whether there were any Dwarven stories that I could read. And seeing as I’m not able to read Khuzdul I thought I’d start simple. You can learn a lot about a group of people by what sort of stories they tell their children you know,” he paused, expression turning wistful. “My mother used to read me a piece of ‘The Happy Tales of Nibs Burrows’ every night before I went to sleep. I always tried to get her to read more but she just laughed and told me, “Some stories are meant to be savoured.”

“And what kind of tales did Nibs Burrows get up to? Dwarven children’s stories can be quite—.” Thorin winced, not able to finish the thought. He remembered that Kíli’s favourite as a child had been the one where a vagabond had his eyes put out for the murder of a beloved son. He hadn’t been able to stop giggling, which really should have clued them in to how peculiar he would turn out.

“Oh he got up to all sorts of trouble, did Nibs, and always ate quite a lot of delicious food,” Bilbo smiled ruefully. “There was always some sort of vague moral at the end though. My favourite one was where Nibs went out in a terrible thunderstorm and he got carried away in a twister to a far off land where everything was opposite. He tried everything to get back and finally managed to return home with the help of magic.” Taking the book from Thorin’s outstretched hands, he continued, “I always liked to imagine that if it was me I’d just make the most of it. Why wouldn’t you want to live in a wondrous new world where no-one knows what you were before?”

Sensing that perhaps he’d revealed too much, Bilbo folded the book under one arm and started inching away from Thorin’s startled form. 

“Better be off then, I told Kíli I’d help him with his archery this afternoon. Do you know he tried to talk me into putting an apple on my head so he could shoot it? The absolute cheek of that boy.”

Bilbo dashed past Ori who had just come in, calling, “Found it! It was in the geology section! I’d like to give whoever was in charge of organisation a piece of my mind.” He held up the dusty papers in the air triumphantly. He then frowned, looking at Thorin’s expression and back to the door, “Was that Bilbo?”

-⧫-

“— and then he just ran out like his feet were on fire. Is it too much to ask for an obvious acknowledgment that he wants me to court him. Oh and the look Ori gave me before I left! Like I had deliberately upset Bilbo, or had some sort of a— a lover's tiff.”

Óin grunted from where he was arms deep in the bowels of a dusty cupboard of various bandages and salves. The morning following the library incident found Thorin in Óin’s store room, complaining about Bilbo’s reticence in owning up to his feelings for Thorin. Their location had the benefit of being quite out of the way of any of the other members of the Company, as well as Óin being deaf as a post but still refusing to get a new ear trumpet. This was actually very helpful when Thorin needed to speak without judgement. 

“I cannot pretend to understand the minds of Hobbits,” Thorin muttered, “But I believe I have fallen in love with the most perplexing one of them all.”

Óin then turned towards him, visibly startling, “Ach! You’re still here lad?”

“Yes Óin and I have _been here_ for awhile now. Speaking to you.”

“Eh? Speak up lad,” he bustled over with the bandages, “Actually scratch that I don’t really care, I need to move these to the infirmary. That Hobbit of yours nearly bled me dry, so make yourself useful and lend a hand.” Rather than object to Bilbo being called ‘his Hobbit’ he dutifully loaded his arms up and followed Óin out the door. It was good to know that even as everything else became overwhelming, Óin would never change. 

He’d heard from Dwalin that Kíli’s archery practice had gotten a little unruly, and resulted in no less than two sprained ankles, three snapped arrows and one broken table, in addition to a declaration from Bilbo that he would never, ever help Kíli with archery again. Dwalin was so busy laughing that he did not seem interested in ribbing Thorin about his involvement with such an accident-prone being. 

The rest of the evening had passed by without incident, Bilbo with his elevated ankles and a scowl, Kíli with eyes full of guilt. Despite the bandages, Bilbo still looked more appealing than Thorin knew what to do with, his pout etched tight into his mouth no matter how many apologies he was given. Thorin had known that the injury would all be forgiven in the morning, however. Bilbo’s fondness for Kíli and his brother was legendary at this point. He had once mentioned to Thorin that they reminded him of the children in the Shire with their tendency for mischief, and the incident at the Trollshaws had only cemented this long-suffering position he had taken with them. Fíli still sometimes cheerily called him ‘Mr Boggins,’ and it was expected that Bilbo would pretend to be upset, roll his eyes and cuff him across the arm.

Thorin was glad to sojourn outside of Erebor, away from the pressure of scrutinising his and Bilbo’s relationship. The excursion to assess the farmland and plan out the best procedure for cultivation was that day, and he was due to meet the delegation at eleven. Bilbo had been offered the opportunity to join them, but even he thought it would be a bit far when he still had a slight limp and swollen ankles at breakfast. Thorin had inwardly rejoiced at this, as perhaps the fresh air would give him the opportunity to pull himself together.

Dumping the mess of cloth and salves on the nearby bench whilst Óin wasn’t looking, Thorin made his quick escape out the door. He was again wearing his crown, not looking forward to the heaviness as they rode the few miles out, but understanding it was necessary as they were meeting up with King Bard and his men. He arrived at a collection of Dwarves huddled out on the parapet, waiting for him to show up. He didn’t recognise any of them as anyone of importance to him. Perhaps this too was a blessing, Thorin thought. 

It was a fine day, perfect weather for their patrol with none of the harsh wind that had wound its way around the mountain in the past few days. “We’ll be meeting King Bard there, your Majesty,” a demure Dwarf told him whilst inclining his head, “We have ponies waiting to take us out.”

The journey outbound went smoothly and although Thorin had wished to do it alone, a part of him did miss Bilbo’s sarcasm and quick wit. Too often he found himself turning to his side to make a cutting comment regarding the state of things, but Bilbo was not there to laugh and offer his own assessment. 

Bard was also visibly disappointed that the Hobbit was not among their number.

The man still seemed to very much dislike Thorin, never quite trusting him not to fall back into the dragon-sickness that had almost led them to ruin. Without the Hobbit there to smooth over his sharp edges, Thorin had to work twice as hard to stay pleasant in front of the man. Diplomacy had never been his strong suit and there were only so many times he could ask after Bard’s children before they lapsed into a tense silence.

“Perhaps we should take the way back through Dale to see some of the rebuilding?“ Thorin announced to the party desperately, looking at Bard for his acquiescence from atop his fine brown horse. He nodded gravely, his mouth tight and eyebrows drawn down. This seemed to be the only expression the man was capable of.

“Aye, a small market has been set up today for local vendors to sell their wares.”

Their steeds walked on, with the two of them leading the way. Thorin cursed the horse’s longer gait compared to his own modest pony as he tried to keep in pace with him. They passed fields of grass that were now long overgrown with creeping thistle, and the clip-clopping of hooves the only sound for miles.

“And how is your Mountain treating you, King Thorin?” Bard broke the quiet, in a long suffering tone that told Thorin that he didn’t really care for the answer, but felt there was a need for small-talk.

“It is treating me very well,” Thorin replied, attempting to match the sombre tone. “We have finally cleared the stench of dragon from the halls, and work has begun to inspect the stability of the caverns to resume mining.”

“And Bilbo?” Thorin could swear there was a gleam of mischief in the man’s eye.

“And Bilbo what?” The road before them twisted north towards Dale, the Lonely Mountain rising tall beyond. It gave Thorin a thrill to see it before him, a reminder of how much they had overcome to be reunited. The cool scent of fir was strong here, the trees at the base of the Mountain carrying the scent downwind.

“And how is Bilbo treating you? I have heard from Master Balin that there are likely to be wedding bells by Spring,” Bard continued.

The Dwarf sighed out through his nose. So the gossip had reached outside the Mountain as well.

“I wish you good luck with your impending nuptials,” Bard didn’t wait for an answer. “You are lucky to have found such a loyal companion, a Consort so magnanimous will surely be a jewel in Erebor’s crown.”

Thorin understood the dig for what it was, and his hands tightened on the reins. 

“Yes, Bilbo has already proven his worth ten-fold. We’re lucky to have him with us in Erebor and that he cares so deeply for Durin’s folk,” Thorin growled out, deciding against disabusing the Man of the Understanding between him and Bilbo. Bard just narrowed his eyes even further if that were possible, disappointed that Thorin had not risen to the bait.

The rest of the journey lapsed back in silence after that.

As they entered the central square of Dale, they dismounted from their steeds, with Thorin passing the reins over to the demure Dwarf from before to look after. He adjusted his crown surreptitiously to release the pressure points on his forehead.

There were several stalls set up along one side of the square, all wooden with a striped canvas overhang to protect their goods from the elements. Thorin could see one from a butcher with a wide selection of fat sausages and dried hams, and another with plentiful silvery fish, from common roach to slippery eels.

Bard coughed and Thorin tore his gaze away to focus on him suspiciously. The Man’s severe expression had melted slightly and he gestured to one of the stalls at the far end of the line. Thorin turned his head and saw a very familiar Hobbit propped up against a stall selling a variety of fruits and vegetables, chattering away to the stall-owner. He was accompanied by Nori and Dori, both unmistakable with their intricate hair. They looked like his bodyguards, speaking quietly to him but keeping their eyes alert to the presence of danger. Dori actually cut a foreboding figure with his arms crossed in front of him so tightly they bulged, much different to his rather sweet personality, whereas Nori always had that gleam in his eye that warned people to steer clear, and his person was likely riddled with sharp knives. 

Thorin beelined towards the stall, ignoring Bard’s mutter when he did not say goodbye. 

Nori noticed Thorin first and relaxed his stance slightly, leaning over to Dori and Bilbo to alert them. Bilbo twisted around his eyes searching until they landed on Thorin, a smile lighting up his features like the dawn breaking.

Bard’s words still echoed inside his head. You’re not good enough for him, they whispered. He could leave Erebor at any time. Helpless to the smile however, Thorin drew closer and closer, the pull at his navel guiding him forward.

“Thorin! How did the expedition go? And was that Bard with you, I haven’t spoken to him for an age, I must ask him how his children are doing,” Bilbo asked, waving past Thorin at what was likely the Man although he refused to turn around to check.

“Perfectly tolerable. What are you doing here?” Thorin asked bluntly, ignoring the second question in order to keep the Hobbit’s eyes on him. Bilbo didn’t seem perturbed. 

“Yes, well, I heard that the market was here today and I couldn’t resist. Nori and Dori said they’d accompany me on account of my ankles even though they had me on a pony, and I had _just_ gotten chatting to Brioc here regarding their orchard harvest of plums and apricots. Look at how scrumptious they all are, you should be very proud Brioc! Very proud indeed!” This last compliment was said directly to the jolly-looking man behind the stall, who blushed under the Hobbit’s earnest praise before returning to stacking boxes. 

“We’ve actually been here rather a while now,” Nori said mildly. 

“Oh hush,” Dori scolded his brother. “It’s barely been a few minutes. Bilbo here just purchased a punnet from this nice orchardist.” 

“Oh yes, do you want one?” He offered the basket of stone fruit to Thorin, who considered the selection and took a small, unmarred plum. His sweet tooth was something he usually tried to conceal from others but of course Bilbo was privy to his secret.

Bilbo grasped his own plum and took a big bite before Thorin could touch his, his teeth working delicately around the large stone in the centre. 

Thorin stared at Bilbo, the juice running down his chin freely and drops collecting in the crevices of his full lips. He looked as decadent as the fruit he ate, and a few drops landed on the collar of the shirt he wore under his waistcoat, darkening it like a tear stain. 

As if in a dream, Thorin brought his hand up to the Hobbit’s heart shaped face and scooped the drops from his lips with the pad of his pointer finger, lingering over the soft skin. They somehow stayed perfectly formed on his fingertip as he brought it to his own face, and he sucked the finger into his own mouth as if nursing a wound. The tartness blossomed on his tongue, mixed with what must be the taste of Bilbo himself. He swallowed the saliva that collected in his mouth, savouring it as his groin stirred. 

Reality came crashing in as he zeroed in on Bilbo’s surprised expression, a blush staining his complexion. He stepped back hastily, “That’s the worst of it, do you have something to—?”

“Er- yes, I have my handkerchief with me this time,” Bilbo dabbed at his chin to remove the rest of the liquid, before stuffing it back in his pocket, not seeming to care about trying to fold it neatly. 

Thorin burned with embarrassment, slipping his own plum into his pocket. Durin’s beard, what was he thinking! Nori and Dori didn’t seem to show any signs that they thought anything was wrong, but then again, everyone likely already thought him and Bilbo were steady bed-partners! But Thorin, who hadn’t even _kissed_ the Hobbit, despaired over the liberties he had just taken. 

“I think I wish to head back now,” Bilbo's voice broke through the hysterics, “Óin will not be pleased I’ve been standing for so long— Thorin, would you mind escorting me? If you have finished your business with Bard that is.”

Raising his eyes to meet the Hobbit’s, Thorin was startled to see heat in his expression, his bottom lip caught in the snag of his sharp teeth. The heat below his own belt flared higher.

Bilbo then turned to the others, “Will you two be joining us?”

The two dwarves shared a speaking look before expressing their regrets, “No, no, I’ve got some errands to run here, you two go on without us now,” Dori smiled. 

Saying their goodbyes, they left swiftly, with Nori looking over his shoulder with a smirk as if he wished to wink if not for his brother’s watchful eye. 

The Dwarf and the Hobbit stood there for a second, Thorin’s hands clenching and unclenching nervously before Bilbo took pity on him, hobbling forward with the punnet tucked under his arm. 

They had just made their way a few steps when—“Stop!” Bilbo threw a hand up in front of Thorin to get him to stop moving. Thorin was immediately on his guard, hand at his hip for Orcrist, but Bilbo just pointed over to the far left at a crumbling section of wall, where a tree sprouted through the gap, at odds with the thick grey stone. “Two magpies, two for joy,” he whispered. Thorin could now see the white, blue and black birds perched atop the branches. Their arrow straight tail-feathers twitched as they hopped around giddily. 

Bilbo saluted them before limping forwards to the ponies, and Thorin followed the thread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I swear I'm not obsessed with plums!! I just remember reading that plum and apricots etc were the kinds of staple fruits Tolkien would have in his wholesome country life. My aunt and uncle have a plum tree in their garden in England and they are pretty delicious fruits.   
> 2) The crown stuff is basically my own opinion, like it looks really cool and angular in the film but my God I bet it hurts after a while.   
> 3) Nibs Burrows is what you get when you use a random hobbit name generator, I looked it up and someone has used it as a blog name which I do understand as it is cool sounding.   
> 4) I still have plans for the end of this little story, I think it will probably only be one more chapter which I'll try to update soon  
> 5) you can follow me on tumblr if you like @peachino


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, I'm so happy that people enjoyed it! This is the end of this little fic- and this chapter earns the explicit rating compared to the longing in the previous chapters. Hopefully I'll write more soon, maybe for some other pairings? Apologies for any inaccuracies x

Bilbo had not said a word to Thorin since they had reached the Mountain.

The hallways were surprisingly clear of people as he limped along, Thorin trailing not too far behind. His mind seemed to be stuck in a loop in his anxiety, his eyes catching on the glittering gems embedded in the rock as though he had never seen them before. What must Bilbo be thinking? Was he taking him away from an audience so he could politely decline Thorin’s advances? Had he been mistaken in his assessment of the depth of the Hobbit’s desire in Dale?

Instead of voicing these questions, Thorin instead continued to focus on the walls as his feet moved forward instinctively. There was a huge deposit of garnet and moonstone along this corridor. Bilbo had been stunned when first shown this way, however he had been quick to point out that he had seen hundreds and thousands of gems in his meeting with Smaug, and they had now rather lost their appeal. As Thorin thought of the Arkenstone, now locked deep within the confines of the Mountain, he couldn't help but agree. 

They had reached Thorin’s rooms, entering the warm antechamber that himself and Balin had sat two evenings prior.

Bilbo moved in to stand by the empty fireplace, his back still turned to Thorin.

Thorin couldn’t help but feel a bit wrong-footed by the situation, as he had expected something a bit more than this uncharacteristic silence. Before leaving Dale, Bilbo had even had another Dwarf help him get atop his pony, which had made a hot pull of possessiveness well up within him.

A clunking sound broke through his thoughts, and he refocused his attention.

“Did you know,” Bilbo was fiddling with a little trinket box from atop the mantlepiece, “- that Kíli asked if I had decided who would be giving me away yesterday? He said he wanted to make sure he was the first in the running.”

“We’re going to get married,” Thorin blurted out. At Bilbo’s raised eyebrows he continued, ‘I meant, everyone thinks we’re going to get married.”

“Now that is rather funny, considering you haven’t even asked me yet.”

Thorin’s heart stopped for a split-second, before continuing on unevenly. 

“Did you— I mean, would you want me to ask you?” He had started sweating, big fat droplets running down his neck and pooling at his collar.

Bilbo smiled, putting the box back down, before moving over to the left armchair. “I hadn’t properly thought about it until Kíli brought it up. It’s actually how the incident with the sprained ankles happened. He surprised me.”

Thorin lowered himself down into the other armchair stiffly. “I see.”

“But now, I can't seem to stop thinking about it.”

Thorin’s heart kicked up a notch, and he felt sure that if he just glanced down he would see its shape beating outside of his ribcage. His gaze however, remained fixed on the Hobbit.

He swallowed thickly, “You— you can’t?”

Bilbo paused before sitting, and instead limped over to Thorin and slung one leg over to sit astride his thighs. His toes just grazed the floor either side, swinging back and forth with the momentum.

He then reached for Thorin and started playing with his fingers using both of his hands. “I can’t believe I’ve never noticed how large your hands are in comparison to mine.” He looked up at the Dwarf through his eyelashes, pressing his thumb deep into the lines carved into his palm.

He tried to speak but no sound came out. Clearing his throat he tried again, “They’re not that big.”

Bilbo just hummed before letting his hand drop down, placing his own on Thorin’s broad chest, above the edges and grooves of the metal he had explored before the council meeting. 

And Thorin— well Thorin had had enough of this. He surged up and captured Bilbo’s lips in a soft kiss, the movement swaying Bilbo’s upper body back dangerously before Thorin’s hands clasped him around his generous hips to steady him. Bilbo immediately responded, pressing his mouth back oh so sweetly. It wasn’t long before his small tongue slipped into Thorin’s mouth, alternating between nibbling on his bottom lip and gasping out, like this was a game of chase to keep up with.

Thorin clutched him closer, his hand moving up to press to his back as if trying to absorb the Hobbit into himself.

Bilbo then gently untangled himself, smiling ruefully down at Thorin. He cupped Thorin’s cheek in his hand, who leaned into it, placing a single kiss to the heart line as if making a promise.

“Would you mind awfully if I removed this?” he gestured with his head towards Thorin’s crown. It must have almost been threatening to poke his eye out.

“Please do.” Anything, anything to get Bilbo to kiss him again as soon as possible. 

Bilbo plucked the crown off his head with all the care of a reverse coronation, before gently placing it on the side table.

“That’s better,” he twisted back to Thorin, before diving back in for a searing kiss. They lost time like that, coming back up for air only when they were desperate before moving back in again, the hot slickness as their mouths slid together driving him mad.

Through the headiness, Thorin could feel Bilbo’s hips shifting back and forth against the top of his thighs, rubbing the bulge of his groin to the surface as he chased his pleasure. Thorin cursed his heavy garb, wanting desperately to remove it but not wanting to take his own hands off of the decadent Hobbit for a second.

Luckily Bilbo made the decision for him, moving his hands from Thorin’s hair to scrabble at the metal mail, “Off, off, get it off,” he mumbled.

In his haste to pull his mail up over his head, Bilbo once again almost toppled down onto the floor, his delighted laugh echoing around the chamber. Thorin grinned back helplessly whilst working on removing his wrist guards and belt, throwing them carelessly to the side, more intent on the delicious creature in his lap. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening, the giddy tension thrumming beneath his skin ready to burst out as if it were a living thing. Yes, it really did feel alive, a playful, exciting feeling that had been laying dormant within him for so many years.

Eventually left in just his light shirt, trousers and boots, he gazed up at Bilbo for instruction. “It seems you now have me at a disadvantage,” he spoke, and was surprised at the vulnerability that had leaked into his tone.

“Can’t have that now,” Bilbo replied, unbuttoning his waistcoat and throwing it to meet Thorin’s own before starting on the white shirt. “I don’t suppose you’d help me along?” he had stopped at the top three buttons. A hot thrill went through Thorin as he realised Bilbo wished him to undress him. His clumsy fingers threaded the buttons through the holes, exposing Bilbo’s blush-pinkened chest with its light dusting of hair. The Hobbit was so comely like this, his body on display for Thorin’s eyes only.

The shirt dropped to the floor and Thorin’s hands slid from the rounded belly, to the valley of his ribs and up to his peaked nipples, goose bumps trailing in his wake. Although the Mountain was always warm, the exposure had left the flat areolas raised for Thorin’s inquisitive fingers as he thumbed them over and over. Bilbo threw his head back in pleasure and squirmed even closer, bringing their crotches better aligned. 

“Do you want me to help you with yours?” Bilbo tugged at Thorin’s shirt like he couldn’t touch him enough.

“I think I can handle it,” he half-chuckled, half-sighed whilst removing it, feeling slightly self-conscious when he remarked on the difference in hairiness between the two of them. There was also now quite a good bit of grey intertwined in his own chest hair, the salt and pepper an obvious reminder of his age.

The worry was quickly done away with as Bilbo’s fingernails combed through Thorin’s abundance of chest-hair with an enamoured look on his face. A rumble he’d never heard himself make before bubbled through him as it was tugged gently, his senses lit up in a way that reminded him of his more indulgent youth.

“As much as I’m enjoying this, maybe we could move it to a more comfortable place? Your bed perhaps?” The cheeky Hobbit had proved himself once again to be the more direct of the pair. "You'll have to carry me Thorin, my poor ankles couldn't take the journey."

In an impressive (if he did say so himself) feat of strength, Thorin gathered the Hobbit close to him and stood up, staggering through the door and collapsing heavily both on top of the bed and Bilbo. 

“I’m not as spry as I once was,” he gasped out defensively. 

“You’re just experienced, my dear, worldly even,” Bilbo stroked over Thorin’s eyebrows and regal nose with his fingertip. 

Inwardly preening at the term of endearment, he concentrated on putting his mouth on Bilbo’s nipples, scraping his teeth and beard on them to voice his outward disapproval.

Bilbo keened, clutching his hands to Thorin’s long braids in encouragement. Thumbing open the button on Bilbo’s trousers, he then quickly rid the Hobbit of his drawers so that he was now completely nude below him. 

Thorin’s hand reached down to wrap around Bilbo’s shaft, revelling in the hitch in his breath. 

“Ah—Thorin,” he gasped as his fist travelled up and down the hard length, smearing the slick spend around and ending with a light squeeze at the delicate head.

“I have you, _amrâlimê_.” The tender Khuzdul slipped out in the face of Bilbo’s squirming.

The sight below him was almost enough for Thorin to finish in his trousers. The soft glow of the lamps highlighted his golden curls and his soft body like a sumptuous painting, but he held on to his wits by pressing his lips to the soft skin of his neck. He sped up his strokes and Bilbo twitched once, twice and came with a choked groan, leaking even more of a mess onto Thorin’s fingers. 

Thorin rolled off Bilbo’s legs to lie with his back to the smooth bedspread, giving him some air as the Hobbit slowly returned to himself. Not that Bilbo seemed to need long at all, as he quickly climbed onto his knees over Thorin, pulling at his trousers to release his member from its confines. Their positions now reversed, he swooped in and sucked the head into his willing mouth, licking into the slit and sinking down.

His hairy thighs jerked upwards at the sensation, but Bilbo compensated for this, taking him deeper into the warm wetness.

“Mahal, your mouth,” Thorin groaned, with Bilbo’s reply just a hum and an inch more taken in.

Already close from pleasuring Bilbo, Thorin spilled into his mouth with a grunt. His gaze was hyper-focused on the patterns across the ceiling as he floated up and then back down to his body, and to where the Hobbit was now looking extremely pleased indeed.

He tugged him upwards, wrapping a strong arm around the smaller creature. _Mine_ , he thought, mine forever.

They lay there in the afterglow, sweat drying on their skin. Thorin felt thoroughly claimed by the Hobbit, and they were quiet for a moment with the enormity of what they had just shared.

Of course, as it was Bilbo, the quiet didn’t last for long.

“I was telling the truth that I hadn’t really considered this properly you know— well what I mean to say is that I did think about it once or twice! but I thought it probably wouldn't ever happen between us because you never said anything, and you didn’t ever ask me when I was going to leave...” he trailed off, before turning his head to look Thorin in the eyes. His breath caught at the intensity he found there.

“But I haven’t left yet, and I don’t intend to leave until you tell me I have to. I fully intend to love you, Thorin Oakenshield, to the end of my days.”

“ _Never._ Never leave. My love, my treasure of all treasures, _Ghivashel_ ,” he breathed back, kissing him soundly in the centre of his forehead.

Bilbo looked incredibly pleased at this, “I will need to go back to the Shire to check on Bag End soon however. I had enough trouble with trying to reclaim it in absentia through one of your bloody ravens, so I’ll need to show my face again to remind them I am _not_ dead, thank you very much,” he muttered before tangling his hand back into Thorin’s chest hair. “But I could do with a Dwarven bodyguard or two to defend me against Lobelia and her lot.”

“I’ll come with you myself if I can. And I promise I won’t get lost this time.”

They lapsed into silence again, Thorin running a soothing hand down the Hobbit’s back from top to tail and back up again. 

“You didn’t say earlier, how did you come to the conclusion that you loved me?” Bilbo yawned.

Thorin thought it was perhaps better to tell the truth in this instance, the Hobbit could be truly terrifying when crossed. “Balin gave me a book of traditional courtship rites for our Spring wedding. It seems everyone knew before we did— and the Mithril I gave you just sealed the deal in their eyes.”

Bilbo cracked up laughing, throwing an arm across his face to stifle his giggles. Thorin scowled at him for performance’s sake, but inside he felt something softening after years of hardness.

“Should we—should get him a gift?” he hiccupped, “Something to say thank you for pulling your head out of your bottom?”

“I think the ‘I told you so’ will be enough of a gift for him,” he stated mildly, and Bilbo burrowed his face into Thorin’s side in reply, nuzzling the skin below his armpit. Thorin felt truly claimed by the wondrous creature, heart and soul.

He gently pulled the blanket up over the Hobbit’s shoulders, who let out a contented sigh. His breath began to slow as unconsciousness took him.

Before he too drifted off to sleep, more relaxed than he had been in a very long time, it was with the vague assertion that he’d get started on that book from Balin first thing the next morning.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the love given to this fic. I'm proud of myself for completing it especially as I didn't write it all before posting. As always you can reach me on tumblr, @peachino
> 
> typical Thorin/Bilbo neo-Khuzdul applies  
> Amrâlimê- my love  
> Ghivashel- treasure of all treasures

**Author's Note:**

> you can talk to me at @peachino on tumblr too if you wanna, I'm a bit of a lurker on there


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